


Slow Drift

by Volky888



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, everyone's in denial abt feelings, idk if i can really call this friends to lovers but that's as close as it gets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-14 09:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volky888/pseuds/Volky888
Summary: People say that a brain in love is the closest to insanity.In Santino’s experience, that was true.





	Slow Drift

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Santino has more sense of self-preservation than launching grenades into John’s house.  
[the name for Santino’s father is definitely borrowed from Manic_intent’s writing!! It read so naturally in their fics that it basically stuck in my head as canon]

People say that a brain in love is the closest to insanity.

In Santino’s experience, that was true.

People say that Santino’s mother was a beautiful woman. Sea green eyes, golden hair, and an enchanting smile. She fell in love with a young D’Antonio boss, gave him a daughter and a son, yet not all the love in the world could stop the bullet that stopped her heart over clan trade disputes. Santino had been 5 years old, and it would be years before Gianna tells him that their father was one that ordered the hit.

Love had no place in their world. It was a vulnerability few could afford, Gianna knew it, Santino knew it, and anyone with any sense knew it.

But then again John Wick had never been a sensible man.

When the man asked Santino for a favor, the young Camorra leader had been startled. John did not ask for favors lightly, and certainly not for the price of a blood oath. And yet when Santino learnt the reason for John’s act of desperation –love, marriage, a woman – it made perfect sense. The man was insane.

Of course, Santino helped the retiring assassin with his task. A marker from the Boogeyman held value, even if Santino never planned on cashing it in. Besides, Santino was curious to see if this love story would end in tragedy, as they so often do in his world.

#

“Ciao John,” Santino greeted as the sullen looking man opened his front door. It’s been five years since Santino last saw John, his hair had grown longer, beard a little less groomed, eyes more tired. The retired assassin’s eyes flicked to the ample amount of security behind Santino, but he did not look hostile, just tired to the bones. Santino supposed that was understandable, considering the hundred or so Russian gangsters he had recently put to permanent rest. And the dead dog. And the dead wife. This was going to be a difficult talk.

“May I come in?” Santino asked, tilting his head to look past the doorway.

John silently moved aside, granting him entrance. He offered Santino coffee, and even though it turned out to be cold and not remotely drinkable by Santino’s standards, the gesture was appreciated.

“I’m not here about the marker, John.” Santino thought it best not to cut to the chase.

Surprise was a fleeting expression on John’s face, and it was quickly replaced by a frown to indicate his confusion.

“I am here with an offer, if you would hear me out.” When John stared at him blankly, Santino took it as permission to continue. “My father has recently passed, and his seat at the high table now belongs to Gianna. I know when I have overstayed my welcome, and Italy is no longer the best place for me to stay. Thankfully, the New York bratva was conveniently disassembled recently, leaving a power vacuum for our family to expand, a perfect opportunity for me to relocate myself.”

Santino glanced at John, who seemed to tense up a little at mention of the entire deceased bratva.

“So what do you want from me?” John asked.

“I need to borrow your name. New York is new territory, and I need an established name by my side that can put off rivals with funny ideas. Be my bodyguard.”

“No. I’m retired.” John stated evenly.

Santino’s lips pursed thin, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. He had expected this to happen, but he had to try anyways. “I’m not delusional enough to think I can drag you out of retirement by force, John. But do think about it. You’ve gotten the entire city shaken up by your recent exploits already. You won’t have to do much actual work, just come live with my retainers, and show up once in a while in public by my side. It might be nice for you to get a change of scenery.” Santino pointedly looked around the minimalistic and entirely too empty house.

John’s composure didn’t change. But Santino knew it was time for him to leave, he didn’t want overstay his welcome, after all.

“_Buonasera_, John. Find me at the Continental if you change your mind.”

#

Three mundane days passed since Santino visited. John walked his dog and taught it tricks, but was hesitant to name it. For the first night, he puzzled over why Santino didn't simply use the marker, even though it would have made John an unhappy man. In hindsight, Santino had the right idea not to put the Baba Yaga in a foul mood.

John had first met Santino on a trip to Rome. The man had been in his mid-twenties, confidence and arrogance mixed in a reckless cocktail. His features had been softer then, although his intense green eyes and arched eyebrows remained much the same. The man that had shown up at his door three days ago was still undoubtedly beautiful, with an air of grace and command around him. But it was evident that the years had not been kind on him either.

John had hoped he would never need to see the Italian again, despite having considered him a friend like Gianna.

On the fourth day, Santino knocked again on John's door. He'd come for advice regarding certain territorial operations, he said, lifting a bag of expensive Italian coffee beans as offering. John let him in.

He returned again in a week, and then again in five days. Each time he made no more mention of his offer from the first night, and each time he gave a generous amount of pets to John's bulldog. The unnamed dog was really beginning to get excited at the first whiff of Santino's presence. John didn't know what he thought of it, but having the presence of another person in the house occasionally was nice, even if the presence of Santino also meant the presence of a convoy of guards stationed on the perimeter. Santino sometimes asked for business advice regarding local clans and their preferences, sometimes asking for John's insight and professional advice. Sometimes he just talked about mundane things while John listened - as mundane as the life of a Camorra leader can get, anyways.

On Santino's fifth visit, John offered him a drink instead of a cold coffee. 

"Bourbon, really? I much prefer a good bottle of red wine, if you please." Santino scoffed at the sight of John's preferred drink.

John shrugged and made no comments as he left the room to fetch Santino's drink. He returned to find his still unnamed dog happily sitting by Santino's feet as the man bent down to rub his belly.

He poured Santino half a glass, set it down next to him like a good host, and then settled into his own armchair across from the Italian in their usual sitting arrangement.

"Why are you here, Santino?" John started, "I don't mean the usual excuses you come up with. Why are you _really_ here?"

Santino looked caught off guard for a brief second, but quickly composed himself again. John was more perceptive than Santino had given him credit for. Or maybe Santino was simply over confident to the point of underestimating the Boogeyman.

"Expanding business in a foreign country is tiring work, John.” Santino picked his words carefully. “You insisted that you are retired and never visits the Continental, so I came to you.”

"If you keep seeking me out like this, people will think I'm working for you."

"Not necessarily." Santino glanced at John over the rim of his wine, he took a long sip before continuing, "Maybe I just enjoy your company. You're the one person in my life that's not in the Arrangement right now."

"You come here... to socialize?"

Santino grimaced, "I wouldn't call talking to you socializing. But the sentiment is there. Besides, why do you keep letting me in?" Santino lifted his chin at John with a smirk on his face.

"I consider you and Gianna friends. And you haven't done anything stupid to give me a reason not to let you in." 

"I'm flattered to be considered a friend, John." Santino grinned, lowering his lashes in a way he knew made most people falter. However, John was not known for faltering in any situation, merely frowning slightly, so Santino poured himself another glass of wine. “Your house seems lonely for just you and the dog here. You should really come live with me, I’ve relocated from the Continental to a rather nice apartment. Besides, the dog has grown rather found of me, it seems.”

As if understanding, the dog perked up briefly by Santino’s feet.

John downed his drink. “Santino, I’m telling you now as a friend.” John’s tone was soft as he spoke, “As much as I appreciate your visits, it would be better for all parties involved if you stopped visiting me so blatantly. I _can’t_ be dragged back to the Arrangement. It would end terribly for everyone.”

Santino considered his words, swirling his wine and pointedly not making eye contact. If he was hurt it did not show on his face.

“I see. _Buonasera_, John.”

#

After that night, Santino stopped visiting John. Silence returned to his empty home, broken only occasionally by the sound of the dog’s claws happily running across hardwood floors. John spent his days reading, learning to cook, teaching new tricks to the bulldog. He grieved in silence, his rage all burnt out to ashes, and he quietly learnt to rebuild the gap that Helen had left in him with the feeling of warm wind on his skin, the smell of a well cooked meal, the weight of dog laying in his lap… The small things in life seeped life back into his tired bones, and he could feel himself getting better. After a while, it no longer hurt to look at the photos of Helen, a gentle acceptance took its place.

Occasionally, he missed Santino. Missed the heavily accented rambles that could go on for ages, and the green eyes that sometimes smiled at him.

But John convinced himself that it was better for everyone if there was no contact. He’s retired, and Santino’s busy running the family business. A friendship between the two would only complicate both parties’ positions in their respective worlds.

The summer months passed by, and first snow comes before John realizes how much time had passed. The dog is unusually excited by the fluffy white substance, so John takes him for a long walk that night.

When he returns, there is a single black sedan outside his door. A blond woman with a sharp haircut stood beside it, John instantly recognized her as Santino’s head of security. She looked tired, bruised, and had fresh cuts on her face. But she stepped aside silently as she saw John, only nodding slightly as he opened his already unlocked front door and entered.

His house was dark, but the moonlight through the windows betrayed the frame of a man slumped in his armchair, curly brown hair standing in an unruly way.

Santino held his head up at the sound of dog running towards him, only managing to pet it a few times before John stood before him. John’s brows furrowed at Santino’s appearance, his usually pristine jacket and vest were discarded, and he wore only the white shirt underneath with the sleeves rolled up loosely. His top three buttons at his collar were undone, revealing his sharp collarbones underneath. But what concerned John were the cuts that adorned his face, and what appeared to be dried blood on one of his shoulders.

“What happened?” John asked.

“We won.”

John didn’t ask further, clan wars for territories only ended one of two ways. Santino being alive was good enough for him. He briskly retrieved a first aid kit from the living room, and came back to find Santino staring at him.

“I don’t need that, the blood is not mine.”

“You have cuts all over your face.”

Santino scoffed, readjusting his position in the chair.

“You should send Ares home, she seemed injured as well.” John suggested. Santino’s gaze flicked up at John, evaluating what he said. John continued, “You can stay here for the night, I’ll make sure you’re still alive by the morning.”

“Well look at that. Mr. Wick offering to be my bodyguard for the night.” Santino said with a weak smile. He flicked open his phone and sent a few short texts. The sedan outside pulled out of the driveway shortly after.

The two fell silent, John taking his usual armchair across from Santino when it became apparent that the tired looking Italian had no intention of moving.

The months that had passed without Santino visiting suddenly ached. A deep, dull ache that made John's chest tighten inexplicably. The Italian had let himself into the house as if he lived there, and John found himself thinking that he'd already accepted Santino's presence here to be natural, as if he belonged in John's space. It was almost comforting.

“Thank you for letting me stay.” Santino said, absent mindedly rubbing his temple.

John had not expected any word of gratitude to ever come from the man. It was refreshing in a startling way.

“You know John, I admired you.” Santino muttered, gazing at the carpet, “The impossible task, the sacrifice for a woman, the audacity to want to leave this life for love… the theatrics of it all was grand, sure, but I admired your courage for falling in love.”

Silence hung in the air, John wasn’t sure how to respond to the sudden confession.

“It was insane, of course, I thought you a madman. But you did what few of us even dream of, and you fought for it. I felt compelled to help you because I was in part, jealous of what you were pursuing.” Santino admitted, finally looking up at John through his long lashes. “Was it worth it, John?”

“Yes.”

Santino smiled, leaning against the chair and throwing his head back. Elegance surrounded him even in his dishevelled state.

“Have you ever been in love?” John asked, knowing it was a stupid question. The Camorra lifestyle had consumed the D’Antonio siblings; it was difficult to imagine any room for love left.

Santino let out a hoarse sound, but didn’t answer.

#

The smell of omelets woke Santino up the next morning. He grunted as he moved, the bruises on his body now entering a stage of sensitivity. He found himself on a large soft bed, on the bed stand next to him laid a silver bracelet and a tiny dog collar. The sheets smelled like John.

He didn’t remember coming into this room last night, supposedly falling asleep downstairs sometimes out of sheer exhaustion. Had John carried him here? His head hurt as if he had a hangover.

There was a fresh dress shirt laid out for him at the corner of the bed, Santino found it to be entirely too large around the shoulders as he put it on. It belonged to John, then. He didn’t bother putting on pants as he followed the scent of breakfast downstairs, exhaustion now replaced by intense hunger.

John turned around from the stove to greet Santino as he heard the man come downstairs, only to stop and pointedly stare at his bare legs with a raised eyebrow. His shirt was entirely too big on Santino, but it felt oddly charming hanging off the smaller man’s frame. Before he could say anything, Santino took two brisk steps forwards and pressed his lips against John’s.

The kiss was quick. A brief, soft brush of lips before Santino broke it. But he didn’t pull away, his face stayed inches away from John’s, studying the older man’s eyes with the luxury of proximity that he never had before.

A beat passed before John lifted his hand to caress Santino’s injured face, gingerly touching the skin as if he were afraid of hurting him again.

Santino smiled and leaned into his touch. “I’m not made of glass, John.” He winked.

John’s grip tightened as he decided breakfast could wait a little longer.

#

Old family photos Santino had once dug up had shown him that Gianna had taken after their mother’s looks. The same golden tresses and alluring smile. But it was evident that Gianna got her strongest weapon from their father – an unfaltering ruthlessness that allowed her to sit at the High Table.

On the other hand, Santino was a living copy of a young Massimo D’Antonio. Yet his father always insisted he had his mother’s weaknesses, and everybody knew his mother’s biggest weakness was allowing herself to fall in love, blind to the consequences.

Santino thinks he could understand his mother more now.

After that morning in John’s kitchen, Santino’s visits became less one sided. Ares had been quite surprised when John had silently turned up on the front door of Santino’s apartment one day, his unnamed dog happily wagging his tail in tow. Eventually, John moved into Santino’s apartment, although he was still “officially retired”. Santino didn’t know for sure how the rules of retirement worked within the Arrangement if you were dating a Camorra man, but they will cross that bridge when they get to it. John didn’t work for him, and Santino never asked again.

Besides, Santino thought as he watched his lover step outside their apartment in a sleek black suit, ready to accompany him to an opening night at the art museum, what they had was balanced on the head of a pin. They were a slow inferno drowned out by blind affection, eyes wide open yet pointedly blind to the consequences as they danced in the dark. A reaper and a viper, together, foolishly brave, and foolishly in love.

**Author's Note:**

> accompanying art: https://twitter.com/volky888/status/1161080330293522433
> 
> twitter @volky888  
curiouscat @volky888  
pls talk to me abt john wick


End file.
